'No worries' doesn't bring sense of security

BETSY BITNER

Updated 8:36 pm, Thursday, June 14, 2012

I first suspected trouble when Doomsday began trending on Yahoo. Things took a turn for the worse when I bought a 2012 weekly planner from Central America and realized it was a few pages short.

By now you've probably heard. According to an ancient Mayan calendar, the world will end on Dec. 21, 2012.

Yes, 2012. Not to beat a dead Guatemalan horse, but that's only six months away.

Ticktock, people.

Am I worried? Well, as someone who lists "collecting phobias" as one of my hobbies, you bet I am. But there are people paying upfront for five-year gym memberships, as well as folks buying Thousand Island dressing by the case at Sam's Club, so apparently no one else is taking this seriously.

I've spent a lot of nights wondering just how the world will end.

Natural disaster? Mass epidemic? Aliens? All of these scenarios are played out regularly on TV and at the movies, and yet I'm the only one carrying an umbrella in case it starts raining frogs.

As we get closer to Dec. 21, though, those who made dire predictions have begun backpedaling faster than a one-legged unicyclist on a conveyor belt to hell. Now experts are claiming the Mayans didn't actually pick a date for the end of the world; they just stopped counting. Supposedly they became distracted by a new season of "CSI: Tegucigalpa," or their calculators ran out of batteries, or something.

I know it's human nature to adopt a Pollyanna attitude in the face of overwhelmingly negative evidence. How else do you explain skinny jeans with elastic waistbands? But maybe, just maybe, our indifference is the result of sinister forces brainwashing us into complacency.

Exhibit A: "Hakuna Matata." Sure, it's a catchy tune, but I suspect it's also a little-known type of Swahili mind control. For years, we've allowed singing animals to blithely encourage us to lead a carefree existence despite the possible danger of a nuclear-induced zombie attack.

But time is running out. We need to snap out of it and get prepared. That's why, as a responsible parent, I tell my kids to pop in a DVD of "Armageddon" and take notes.

As with many things, however, repeated exposure to "Hakuna Matata" has rendered us immune to its power. This African export no longer has sufficient potency to lull us into a false sense of security. So we've had to turn to something stronger. Something in plain English.

That's the only plausible explanation I can think of for why the phrase no worries has crept into common usage. This expression of reckless nonchalance comes from Australia. Crikey — that's the same country that also gave us "a dingo ate my baby" and Mel Gibson. If you ask me, the Aussies have plenty to worry about.

Since we seem to love so many things from the land down under, the phrase has crept into the American lexicon faster than you can say "bloomin' onion." But I fear the widespread adoption of this cavalier outlook will leave many of you woefully unprepared.

Just the other day, after watching a "Terminator" marathon in order to finalize my End of Days battle plan, I needed to buy a cup of tea to soothe my cyborg-rattled nerves. Handing me my change, the barista's hand came perilously close to my own. Fortunately, I was able to jerk it away before she could make contact. Has she not seen "Contagion"?

"No worries," she said, as the coins scattered on the counter.

"I'll be the judge of that," I muttered while fumbling for hand sanitizer.

Picking up the cup and my money, I made my way to a table where I could sit and contemplate bigger problems. Like the possibility of a giant space rock hurtling toward Earth. After all, it's been 65 million years since the last asteroid crashed into our planet, so we're long overdue.

With any luck, it will land on Australia.

Author's note: No actual Australians were harmed during the writing of this column